The Pact of Steel
by Gondola
Summary: World War II, Nazi Germany. The Pact of Steel was a promise of friendship and cooperation between Italy and Germany. By it, Germans and Italians are now considered comrades in all aspects of the word. As a proper soldier, Ludwig takes his new Italian comrades under his guidance and hopefully, prepares them for war. Human AU, GerIta. Future M update.
1. The Italians

**APPARENTLY**, the Royal Italian army was too incompetent to train its own troops, and had sent a multitude of them into Germany's bases, where they might be trained to the specification of the Modern German army. Masses of them arrived in huddles, their bodies soaked from the rain, and their minds already wheeling from the terror of their training to come. The hard eyes and massive scowls upon each German face made the Italian men wary of what was to come. Barked and unknown German commands sent tanned hands to ears, trying to block out everything they didn't know.

The days dragged on to weeks, with the Italians seeming no better at anything that had to do with war. The more orders were shouted, the more distant they would become, eventually not even bothering to show up for the training. At the crack of dawn, they were still in their bunks. The timed showers were no longer timed, and the Italians spent much longer than they were supposed to freshen up. The German troops, brought in to be trained with their Italian allies, were getting increasingly frustrated. The common phrase around the camp was, "_Ich bin enttäuscht_!" and Ludwig had his sympathies. The Italians were disobedient, lazy, and constantly complaining. They jumped into shape after a round of shouting, but eased back into their slacking once the Germans had pulled back. The_ Deutsche _superiors found that without them looming over their shoulders, the Italians quickly reverted back into their niches. Eventually, they agreed that it would be best for both parties to be fully assimilated into the same barracks. The constant watch of their German counterparts would be good for them, they hoped.

It was on a clear night that Ludwig lost his mind. The Italians had been wandering around the barracks for what seemed like hours now, whining and complaining, searching for their clearly labeled bunks and yet never finding them. They chatted noisily, begging for the pasta they had never received. Ludwig had had enough. Standing from his bunk, he stood over the smaller Italian that had popped up next to him. Clenching his fists, his back squared, the German opened his mouth: "_Schweige_!"

The room stilled. Every single pair of eyes was on him. Unwavering, Ludwig sat back down on his bed; put a hand on his pillow to fluff it slightly, before falling onto his back. He closed his eyes, heaving out a heavy breath. Feeling himself being watched, Ludwig frowned and opened his blue eyes, meeting red ones staring right back at him.

"Vhat?" he stared up at the white haired man that hung from the railing of the top bunk. A wide grin came onto the other's face.

"Did somezing piss you off, _Bruder_?" came the snide remark. Ignoring it, Ludwig wrapped his blanket around his broad shoulders, rolling over, his back now facing his brother. He was now staring straight ahead of him, right into the terrified golden eyes of an Italian. A gasp came from his lips, his eyes seeming to open wider.

A sudden scream came from his mouth. "He'a looked at'a me! Don'ta hurt'a me! Please, I'ma just a poor'a Italian man, I don'ta have any'a money! Please, I'a just ate!"

Ludwig stared back, his own eyes widened considerably. He realized that the Italians were skittish creatures, but in truth, he had yet to deal with one directly. They were alarmingly loud, and much more intolerable than he'd previously imagined. The Italian continued, alerting members of its clutch, and the riot began again. His mouth hanging open, the German could hear the laughter of his older brother, his grinning voice resounding, before it was drowned out by Italian cries. It was hopeless to try to stop them again, and Ludwig knew he would not be getting any rest tonight.

He turned over again, arms hooking under the cool fabric of his pillow, and jammed the cushion over his ears. His eyes squeezed shut; he tried to focus on something, anything else but the uproar thundering around him. He was grasping in the dark; the silence eluding him.

His eyes cracked open. Bolting up in bed, he grabbed his head suddenly, jerking away from the bed overhead. "You are finally avake," a voice spoke from his left. His head moved, allowing access to the voice's owner.

"Vhat? Gilbert? Vhat time is it?" he threw the covers off of his legs, standing up next to his brother.

Looking over to his brother, Gilbert tucked his uniformed shirt into his pants. "7:55," he commented. "I vas trying to vake you up, but you vould not budge," Ludwig's eyes widened slightly. "Zink you can get ready in five minutes?"

In a mad rush, Ludwig started to fix his things. Sheets went flying into place, edges tucked under the mattress and out of sight. Clothes were pulled onto his toned body, buttons quickly being worked into place with one hand as the other worked on fixing his blond locks. His hands moved to the leather boots that laid by the bedside, jerking them over pristine white socks, before his hands worked deftly through the laces. Standing up, he reached for the jacket his brother held out, grabbing it and working it over his chest. Buttoning it up, he turned to look over his bed, inspecting it for any imperfections.

"I am impressed," Gilbert spoke up, standing beside him now. "You really did that fast," moving to stand to the left of the bed he shared with his brother, he straightened his back slightly as the door to the barracks swung open.

"Everyvon, at attention!" Men shuffled into place, standing straight. The only ones left squirming were the Italians, who were either struggling to keep still or not moving at all, still lying in their beds. The night's Italian himself was beside his bed, standing just next to Ludwig, wavering, hardly awake. Ludwig looked at him, and then his hand stuck out, snatching at the boy's shoulder. He straightened him up, just as their commanding officer stepped by. Boots crunched on faint traces of gravel, making cracks on the floor that made some Italians quiver.

The man would stop in front of the Italians. He would sneer down at them, hiss at them in German until their bodies were trembling. When they didn't respond to German, he shouted at them in broken English. He only left them alone when they did what he wanted: stood up straight, fixed their bed and their clothes so they would be neat and unwrinkled. Walking back down the aisle, towards the door, Ludwig watched him out of the corner of his eye. Silently, he begged him not to stop, but was disappointed by the sound of two boots clapping together.

"Beilschmidt," Ludwig stood even straighter at the sound of his name. "You look tired today," mentally wincing, Ludwig said nothing to his superior officer.

The man's eyes strayed down to his bed, inspecting it as usual, but finding hardly anything wrong with it. His eyes slid up to Gilbert's bed, and then snapped to look at the man. "Vhat is this mess?" he questioned, his body stiff. "Vhat are you, a child? No breakfast," he said simply, before moving along back down the row. The door to the barracks opened, then closed, and the tension in the air evaporated as their superior officer left. Ludwig turned to his brother when Gilbert groaned, frowning at him.

"I do not understand, Vest," Gilbert rubbed at his face. "You voke up only five minutes before, und you vere still able to get everyzing in place."

"You just do not try hard enough," the German responded.

"Oi!" a voice spoke up, loudly, behind him. Turning, Ludwig stared down at the Italian that he had helped before. There was something different about him this time, though. His gaze was fierce, and the green eyes were narrowed into a glare as they looked up at him. "_Bastardo_, don'ta you taint'a my _fratello _with'a your _stupido _German ways'a," he crossed his arms over his chest.

Ludwig stared down at the shorter man, an eyebrow moving up on his forehead. "Excuse me?" he replied, already turning away. As he did, he met the golden eyes from before. Ludwig jumped. "This is-"

"Come'a on, Feli," the other Italian shoved his way past Ludwig, moving towards the door. The other Italian kept looking at Ludwig for a few more seconds, before he scampered after his fellow Italian. Staring after them for a few seconds, the German man shook his head, before walking to his brother.

"I vill see you in training, _Bruder_," he commented, before walking out of the barracks, towards the lunchroom.

Breakfast at the camp was given sparingly, and of low quality. _Brötchen _was supposed to be hard, but this was stale and tasteless. It crumbled in one's mouth, leaving the tongue with a grainy texture until it was washed out with watery coffee. It probably wasn't even coffee, but the frugality of war called for it. Ludwig set his cup down and stared at the table. At least tomorrow it would be Sunday. Somehow, there was always good food at home, as if the pantry had access to the officer's stock.

Ludwig left the lunchroom still working the bread out of his mouth, stepping out for roll call and finding himself at his brother's side. This always happened. Ludwig stuck a hand by Gilbert's pocket, dropping some bread in there and getting a grin in return.

He looked to his side, expecting his usual comrade, but found the two Italians from earlier instead. He looked from one to the other. The darker one was the spitfire; the lighter one was the one who'd screamed. Odd how they looked so alike. Ludwig turned to face ahead again, abiding to the morning's usual procedures until they were marched down to another field. Gilbert, ahead of him, kept looking back with a grin, and Ludwig had half a mind to kick him into place. He'd end up stuck in the fields for another hour again if he didn't behave. Then he'd miss lunch, again.

The Italians were expected to train alongside the Germans, and do as they did, but as the Germans dropped to the ground, ducking from supposed bomb fire, the Italians looked around with that familiar distant and confused look. Apparently they had been shipped right from their beds to Germany, untrained for war. If they couldn't even duck during a simple training exercise, how were they supposed to keep their heads on their shoulders in the field?

During training, Ludwig found hands clutching for him. It was the golden eyed Italian from earlier, trying to hitch a ride on a more capable soldier. Ludwig peeled him off and replaced him by the other Italian, getting down to crawl under barbed wire and through mud. The Italian hung on for dear life, head ducked away from spines and in Ludwig's leg. Instead of grunts from his fellow soldiers, he heard cries in Italian and felt nails in skin.

"Stop!" he shouted back at the Italian, shaking his leg to wiggle the boy off. The Italian begged back in his own tongue, crying, "_Fratello_, _fratello_!" from time to time, as well.

Once out from under the wire, Ludwig took a pause in the drill to shake off his leg again. The rest of the soldiers had no intention of waiting for him, however, and bombarded him with guns into his sides. Masses of people continued ahead of him, including his brother, never guessing Ludwig to be one to be left behind.

There was angrier Italian coming from his leg now, so Ludwig gave his leg another hard shake and hurried after his brother. He dropped into a trench and heard a very Italian yelp, and when he lifted his leg, he found the same Italian from earlier. This time, the darker one was holding onto the boy strapped to his leg. "Get off!" Ludwig shouted, and looked up in time to see the drill sergeant shouting down at him. He climbed out of the trench and into the open field, feeling lighter than before.

By the end of training, Ludwig had carried the Italians through almost all of the drills. When he found his brother's side again, he was panting. "Vhat ze hell happened to you?" Gilbert asked, breathing out each word himself.

"Italians," Ludwig replied, turning around and finding two more panting soldiers. It was as if they had been the ones carrying Ludwig.

"You made friends?" Gilbert grinned again, looking at the two boys. Ludwig shook his head.

"Parasites," Ludwig answered, "I do not even know zeir names."

"F-Feliciano!" the lighter haired one piped up. Ludwig looked over at him, finally catching his breath and straightening his back.

"Was?" he stared at them with hard eyes.

"My'a name," the Italian whined, hands on his knees as he continued to try to catch his breath. "It'sa Feliciano," he looked up to meet the German's eyes, his face lighting up with a warm smile.

Glossary

German

_Ich bin enttäuscht – _I am frustrated

_Deutsche - _German

_Schweige – _Shut up

_Bruder – _Brother

_Brötchen – _A type of hard bread

_Was – _What

Italian

_Fratello – _Brother


	2. Home

Ludwig stared down at the Italian. Something about his face, that smile, was just stirring...or, rather, stunning; he stood there in confounded silence, with the Italian boy still staring up at him, before his brother broke the dead air with a clap on his back and some other snarky comment. That was enough to snap Ludwig back into reality; he squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them again, leaning away from the Italian and taking in an unsettling breath.

Gilbert was always automatically at ease with anyone, and although Ludwig thought his brother would sense his frustration, the man stuck out his hand in greeting. The little Italian, perhaps at a match for Gilbert's amiability, held out his own hand. The thought struck Ludwig that these two could probably get along well, until the darker Italian slapped the first's hand down.

Ludwig looked at the boy, his face marked with habitual distress, but Gilbert seemed unaffected. He merely raised an eyebrow, and the two of them watched as the darker Italian pulled his friend away.

Now that the two of them were gone, Ludwig felt as though he'd been relieved of some heavy burden. His brother was, again, unaffected, and he turned to him with the same humor he always had. "Showers, then?" he asked.

Ludwig looked at him. How could a man be so carefree? He shook his head, letting it fall as he made his way towards the barracks. He probably should shower, but he still didn't understand what had just happened to him. It felt as though something had shattered in his head; usually he wasn't so easily bothered.

Or, maybe, he was. Gilbert always said he worried too much, but Ludwig figured that his brother worried too_ little_. For example, his brother had more than enough secrets under his belt to get him shipped off to prison; yet, the man had no problem arguing with authority.

The rest of the day, Ludwig found himself distracted by the boy. Eventually, he realized that it was actually his expression that had stunned him, and that puzzled him further. He had seen his brother give the same smile, but this one was somehow different. So maybe his brother's was that of a man who just did not care; the boy's was of...complete and utter..._happiness_? It was hard to pinpoint.

All throughout the day, Ludwig looked to his brother for some sort of example, poised at the ready for him to compare the little Italian boy with. Gilbert always seemed to be a sort of poster child for the habits that Ludwig found confusing, or at least questionable. This time, though, his brother was of little help. By the time Ludwig had gotten to his bed, he found himself even more confused than before.

He found his brother on his bed, waiting for him. "Ready for bed?" asked his brother, smiling the way he usually did.

Ludwig gave him a salty look. "Just go to bed," he said, dismissing anything the man might have wanted to say. His brother laughed, obviously in a good mood, and climbed back up to his own bunk.

Ludwig got into his bed, shutting his eyes just as the lights went out. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, however, and when he opened his eyes, he met a bright pair of golden halos. He stared; the halos stared back. The few bits of light that remained darkened the face before him, but did not completely conceal it. It still seemed to glow in the blue, taking on its own azure in the shadows.

"I'm'a Feliciano," whispered the face, a trace of excitement lacing its voice.

The silence settled in again. Ludwig stared back at the face, his mind completely paled at the thought of what to say. He'd just decided to give the face a rest, and here it was again, bothering him, asking him to think of it again.

"That'a guy up there is'a Lovino, my'a brother."

He'd thought they were brothers. The thought had never really left much of a mark in his head, however; the fact seemed irrelevant.

"What's'a your name?"

What was with this insistence? Was the boy so desperate to talk to him that he'd risk getting kicked in the backside by some other angry German?

"Are'a you asleep?"

"No," Ludwig answered finally, slowly closing his eyes.

The Italian squirmed with another bout of excitement. In the dark, all evidence of this was the shifting of light and the sound of rustling covers. "_Wie heißt du_?" he asked.

Ludwig gave him a shocked look. "_Sprechen Sie Deutsch_?" he asked in return.

"Ve?" Now the Italian was confused.

He sighed. "So you do not speak German?" Most of the Italians didn't.

The Italian laughed a little; it was a bright little laugh, childlike. "No," he replied, "but I've'a heard some Germans saying that."

Ludwig took in a deep breath, releasing it through his nose. "_Ich heiße Ludwig_," he said.

"_Che cosa_?"

"My name ist Ludvig."

"What's your'a brother's name?" Ludwig looked at him. How had he known they were brothers? They looked nothing alike.

"Gilbert," Ludwig answered, shrugging into his covers more.

The boy's voice rang out in the dark again. "Is'a that a German name?"

This boy had too many questions. He just wanted to sleep. "_Ja_, I zink so," he said, rolling over. He closed his eyes. Come to think of it, where did that name even come from? Why had it occurred to their parents to name him such an English-sounding name? Not that it wasn't German...it was...but…

Ludwig paused. Why was he even questioning this? He growled. It was the Italian again, confusing him at every chance he got. He grunted a little, shifting under his covers again. Well, he'd spent all day on one thing the Italian had incited; he wasn't about to spend all night pondering something more.

There was climbing on the other side. Ludwig turned, curious, and found the Italian climbing into his brother's bed. The brother only seemed half awake, having made no sounds previous, and hardly shifted as the first boy crawled into his bed. With that, their conversation was over, and Ludwig turned back to the empty space before him. He was sure there was a man in that bed, but even with the remaining light, his entire body was silhouetted.

Ludwig groaned awake. He'd never felt so displeased by reveille before. He turned in his covers again, his back cracking as he moved, and sat up carefully. He was in no mood to slam his head into his brother's bunk again.

His brother sprung out of bed, eager to get home on Sunday. Ludwig worked sluggishly, still put off by the day before. However, his brother still urged him to check his bed, along with the rest of his space, and Ludwig complied. He knew how excited his brother was about Sundays.

After inspection, Gilbert continued his urgings. "West, come on, let us hurry to the _Wagen_," he said, pulling Ludwig out of the barracks. Ludwig didn't say a thing, only closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he was facing his brother. "They will say yes to you," his brother said, "so you should go ask for it. I will wait for you right here." Ludwig narrowed his eyes. He was only mildly annoyed that he had to go ask for a car, since he knew that Gilbert was right: they_ would _say no to him. Still, it was such a hassle. So many other people went to ask for a car.

He nodded and walked away, joining the masses. The rush was to prevent having to get their own car, and possibly having to pay for it, so Ludwig understood. When he finally reached the officers, they seemed just as irritated as he was. He asked, and, being in their good favor, they agreed.

When he returned, there were the Italians, quiet as they stood by his brother. Ludwig looked at him. "What is going on?" he asked, completely unsure. Hearing the explanation, Ludwig let out another frustrated breath. He'd had enough of these boys already… He stared at the little Italian, and the little Italian gave him that unsettling smile again. There was something bright in those eyes that made Ludwig forgive him, and moved to follow his shouting brother into the car. The Italians wandered after him, and Ludwig suddenly felt like a mother duck.

As they entered town, Ludwig thought of an errand they might take. He slowed down by a bar, only to be interrupted by his brother.

"_Nein_, ve can just come back," Gilbert said, already aware of what his brother wanted, "You can just come back with Grandfather, or something. I do not want to stop right now." He turned away from Ludwig, gazing out the window, and Ludwig sighed, frowning as he continued on.

Arriving at their grandfather's house, Gilbert was the first out on the ground. Ludwig stepped out of the car calmly, looking at the little Italian.

"We'a haven't been to a German'a house before, have we, Lovi?" he questioned. The other Italian seemed immediately disinterested, but Ludwig appreciated the first's comment. Gilbert walked by the little Italian, mussing his hair, before hurrying to the house. He threw open the door and shouted inside.

"Ve are home!" he called.

Ludwig waited for the two boys to move. They didn't, though, and one gave his grandfather a strange look when he glanced outside. Sighing, he began to herd the boys inside, holding his arms over them until they had entered the house. He shut the door behind them.

"Zey are friends of Ludwig," finished his brother, having been explaining the Italians.

Ludwig frowned. "Not my friends, I hardly even know zem." The little Italian turned to him, brow furrowed in confusion. Not thinking much of it, Ludwig leaned against the door. The Italians still didn't move, but the lighter haired one seemed to be staring at the Austrian inside.

"Mr. Roderich?" he questioned. Ludwig looked at him. This boy was constantly surprising him with the things he knew.

The Austrian jumped, startled. "_Du_!" he exclaimed, giving the boy a wide-eyed look. He turned to the other one. "And your brother, too!" Now he turned to Ludwig. "Vhere did you find zese two?"

Gilbert interrupted, explaining for his brother. "At ze camp," he said, already putting his feet up on the coffee table. He looked back at Roderich. "Did you not know? Ever since zey kept losing all zose battles, ze Germans have been training zem," he shrugged, leaning back. Their grandfather walked over, removing Gilbert's feet from the table. Gilbert didn't protest, only giving their grandfather a pout before sitting up again. "Ve have been training vith zem for ze past few veeks."

Roderich sat down, his glasses slipping down his nose. "At least-"

The little Italian jumped at Roderich, grabbing onto him suddenly. "Mr. Roderich!" he cried, nearly toppling the man over. Surprisingly, Roderich hardly moved, looking irritated but not really moving to remove himself from the boy.

Their grandfather turned to them. "Zere is food in the kitchen," he began, his accent thick and noisy in comparison to his grandsons', "zere should be enough for everyvon. If not, ve vill make more."

"Vhat is zere?" asked Gilbert. Ludwig looked up, curious too.

"Zere vas not enough meat at ze market to make much," said Alaric, "it vas too expensive. _Aber_, ve have _Schwein_, _Kartoffeln_, _Knödel_, _und auch Kuchen_." The man looked at Roderich, giving him a look as to credit him for the cakes.

Gilbert grinned suddenly, looking back at Roderich. "Zere is only von zing in zis house zat I vant to eat," he said, and the other man reddened.

His arms tightened over his chest, as if he were trying to make himself smaller. "If you vant to eat, you vill go und make do vith vhat _Herr_ Beilschmidt made you. Honestly, can you not be more respectful?" He crossed his legs, scowling towards an empty part of the room. Gilbert always found a way to get him flustered; he did it on purpose, too, and Ludwig wondered what could interest a man in that.

Since the food was already out, Ludwig thought he might as well go and feed the Italians. They were always complaining about how they were hungry, anyway. He held his arms up again, trying to herd the Italians together. "_Komm mit_," he said, "zere is food in the kitchen. You can eat as much as you vould like."

"I don't'a want'a your stinky German food!" cried the darker Italian, trying to move past Ludwig again, "I want'a pasta and'a pizza and not'a your food!"

When Gilbert pushed past him, Ludwig realized that he had made a mistake. Even though this Italian seemed like he was unlikely to eat much, he might end up eating a lot of it - leaving too little for all the rest. Ludwig looked over at his brother. The man stood hesitating at the kitchen counter, staring at each food with an empty plate in hand. It looked like a lot, the food, but to feed four grown men, it was already a stretch. Not too long ago, everything had become incredibly expensive, and their grandfather had barely been able to feed them all. The experience still hung heavy in his mind, and looking at his brother, he still seemed just as affected.

The economy was stabilizing again, as per the effect of war, but then, feeding and tending to soldiers posed another weight on a country. Conservation of goods was a priority, in order to support the troops, and it reflected in their grandfather's household. Gilbert himself, usually so carefree, was spreading food out on his plate to make it look like he'd taken enough. Ludwig watched him leave, before beginning to serve the Italians.

Since they were always complaining about how they were hungry, Ludwig served them more than what they would get at the camp, while ignoring the darker Italian's complaints. Ludwig looked at each of the boys, judging whether or not they would be able to carry their own plates, and decided against it. He walked out of the kitchen, balancing three plates in his hands, and directed the darker Italian to a seat.

The Italian looked at it, then grumbled to himself, sitting down. Slightly satisfied, Ludwig turned to the other Italian. He was practically bouncing in place, talking, and did nothing when Ludwig tried to get him to sit down.

"Just sit here, next to your _Bruder_," Ludwig said, pointing. The boy did not move. "Just sit. Sit. Sit. _Setz dich_." He kept pointing, trying to move the Italian into his seat at the same time, but he pushed back into Ludwig's hands.

"But'a I want to sit'a next to you, Ludi," whined the Italian, and Ludwig stopped dead in his tracks.

Gilbert, observing from his chair, laughed loudly. "Ludi!?" he repeated, still laughing.

"M-_mein_ name ist Ludvig!" Ludwig stuttered, "It is not Ludi!"

The Italian seemed unfazed. "Can'a I sit'a next to you?" he asked, smiling as wide as ever. Ludwig stared at him again, waiting for him to wriggle, but the boy was unwavering. He sighed.

"_Ja_, I suppose so…" He slowly sunk into his seat.

Both Italians began to eat: one pouted at his food, and the other kept talking at Ludwig. Frustrated, Ludwig pushed napkins into his face, trying to get him to eat silently and, at the same time, keep with proper cleanliness. In response to each napkin, the boy only sputtered, then opened his mouth and chatted happily again. Ludwig groaned, and gave up trying to lecture the boy. Obviously, there was no point.

Gilbert was glancing around a lot, looking from the Austrian to their grandfather and then to his food. Not thinking much of it, Ludwig looked away, watching the babbling Italian again.

"_Alles fertig_!" cried Gilbert, getting up from his chair suddenly. Both the Italians, as well as Roderich, jumped, and Gilbert pulled the Austrian upstairs. Ludwig frowned after them, listening to whatever Roderich was saying for a second, before turning back to the boys at hand.

The darker one stood up all of a sudden, and his brother looked up at him with concern. "Ve, Lovi," he said, "you haven't even'a finished all of'a your food."

"I don'ta want this'a fucking German food!" spat the other brother, earning himself a frown from Ludwig. Alaric gave him the same look, but the boy just scoffed, turning away. "I'ma leaving."

"But'a Lovi!" The other got up, following after him with a whine. "They are'a so nice to'a us! We have a place to'a sleep, and'a we have some'a different food to'a eat! Please, Lovi, be'a nice."

"Fuck'a you. If you want to'a stay here so'a bad, then stay'a!" he reached for the door, "But I'ma goin-" he froze–

–then he slammed the door shut. Both Ludwig and his grandfather stood, chairs rattling, ready to make for the door. "_Wer ist das_?" asked Alaric, moving towards the door. The Italian backed up, his expression an unreadable mixture.

Alaric opened the door. "_Señor_ Beilschmidt!" exclaimed a cheerful voice, moving through the door with opened arms. "_Como estas_? _Puedo entrar_?"

The German moved back, allowing the Spaniard inside. "Where is my _Italiano_? I just saw him! Your food looks delicious, _Señor_ Beilschmidt!"

"Antonio!" exclaimed the lighter Italian, bouncing over to Antonio. He hugged him, laughing.

"It's been so long!" Antonio squeezed him, then paused, smiling towards the back of the room. "_Un momento_, _chiquito_," he said, patting the Italian's head. He moved towards the back of the room, reaching into the darkness. "_Hola_, Lovi," he called.

"Don'ta fucking touch me, bastardo!" Ludwig could hear from the kitchen. Looking to his side, the Italian just kept smiling.

"How do you know Antonio…?" the German man asked, looking up again just in time to see an Italian try to bolt out of the kitchen. A pair of hands grabbed him, pulling him into Antonio's chest. The Italian kept trying to get away, his face turning red, but Antonio wouldn't let him go.

"Ve, we met'a him in'a Spain!" explained one Italian. "Him and'a Lovi-"

"Feli!" hissed the other, "Stop'a talking!"

"_Esta bien_, _amor_," Antonio smiled at him. "These Germans aren't like the others," he laughed. "Lovi is my soul mate. We met in Spain and I knew there could be no other for me." The boy turned red again, and Antonio whispered in his ear, smiling to himself.

"Stop tickling me!" The Italian struggled again. "Stop whispering!"

Antonio laughed and held him closer. "I haven't seen you in years and this is how you greet me!?"

"Is that Antonio I see!?" called a voice from the staircase. A grinning Gilbert walked into the room. "Everyone's visiting today!"

"_Amigo_!" Antonio embraced his German friend, bringing him in for a tight hug.

The two began to catch up, beers in hand as usual. Antonio stuck close to his little Italian, smiling and always keeping a hand on him. After some time, another pair of feet made their way downstairs, and Roderich gave the room a wary look.

"Roderich!" laughed Antonio, smiling and waving. The Austrian relaxed, relieved again to see only friendly faces.

"Antonio," Roderich said, "it is nice to see you. How have you been?" He looked at Gilbert.

Gilbert snickered and got up. "I vas supposed to get him food. If you're hungry, Antonio, there is food in the kitchen."

Antonio waved a hand at the other. "_Gracias_. I am happy here, with Lovi." He gave the Italian yet another grin. The man still hadn't stopped smiling at him.

Ludwig looked away from their engagement. He jumped slightly, noticing that the Italian had been smiling at him, too.

"Vhat is it?" Ludwig grumbled, turning to pick up the table. He stacked dishes into one hand, trying to ignore the Italian.

"Can I'a have some of'a Mr. Roderich's cakes?" asked the Italian. He was still smiling.

"_Ja_," replied Ludwig, looking up as Gilbert called good night, "but it is late. Are you sure you vant to eat still?"

"_Si_!" The Italian stood up. With a sigh, Ludwig stood, too, and began to make his way into the kitchen. It wasn't far, but the Italian practically stepping on his heels, all the while cheerfully talking at Ludwig's back.

Ludwig stopped him, frowning, and directed him to the cakes. "Here they are,"

The Italian collected a few small cakes, then looked up at Ludwig with a smile. "Do you'a want some?"

Ludwig looked down at him, frowning again. He couldn't deny that he wanted some, or at least one, but there were so many other people who may have wanted some, as well.

The Italian held up his plate towards Ludwig's face, and Ludwig turned away. "_Nein_, _danke_," he said, using one hand to move the plate towards the Italian, "I do not really vant von."

With a pout, the Italian made his way out of the kitchen. Having thought all the Italians rather absent-minded, Ludwig was surprised to see the boy make his way back to his seat. He followed him, mildly impressed.

By the time the boy had finished his dessert, Ludwig's head had begun to droop. He stared at his boots, mind blank as he waited for the boy to finish. "We are going to bed," Antonio said, causing Ludwig to raise his head again.

"_Ja_, zat is a good idea," he commented, and looked at the Italian next to him. His plate was clear, and his own head hung. Ludwig gave him a curious look.

"He's actually been finished for a while," Antonio smiled, "but I think the both of you fell asleep waiting for each other."

Ludwig frowned again. "I vas not sleeping."

"You were resting your eyes," Antonio grinned, "I know."

"Where am I'a sleeping?" asked the darker Italian, frowning. Antonio grabbed onto him, pulling him towards himself. "No! I'a told you, I am'a not sleeping with you!"

"There is no other place but the living room," Ludwig remarked. The Italian scowled, but held onto Antonio's arm anyway. It didn't take an announcement to reveal their relationship, and now Ludwig felt as though he were impeding on something between them.

"Ludi, can I'a sleep with you?" The same feeling was clear on the other Italian's face. He looked less put-off; evidently, he knew something of his brother's relationship, but wasn't as concerned as Ludwig.

"Vith me?" Ludwig repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on, Ludwig," Antonio swung in, holding his own Italian closer now, "he's small, he won't take up that much space!" He smiled.

Ludwig frowned slightly. It was only for a night, he supposed, so it would be fine. He pursed his lips, "Fine. He may sleep in my room."

Antonio smiled again, warmer now. "Thank you," he said, and turned his Italian toward the couch, nose in his neck.

Giving the two one last look, Ludwig turned back towards the staircase. He began to make his way upstairs, giving his brother's door a glance, too, before opening the door into his room.

"Feel free to take my bed," Ludwig said, walking to his closet. As he browsed, the Italian hovered by his arm. It wasn't a problem, really, but after some time, Ludwig began to feel annoyed. He looked at the boy. "You are not going to sleep in your uniform, are you?"

"Ve, are we supposed to?"

His response stumped Ludwig. Giving him a strange look, Ludwig turned back to his closet. After a while, he replied, "No, you should not. Do you vant to get it wrinkled?"

"It'a already is..."

Ludwig frowned at him over his shoulder. "Then take it off." He took several blankets from his closet, planing to make a bed for himself on the floor. The blankets smelled freshly washed, and Ludwig pushed his nose into them for a moment. Home was nice. His grandfather kept things pleasantly clean. At the barracks, men only made only a minimal effort to keep clean. If they didn't have to, they would leave their clothes all over the floor.

Ludwig turned, facing just that sight. He stared for a few moments, watching the Italian snuggle into his bed, before snapping. "Clean up zis mess!" he barked.

The Italian jumped right out of bed, gathering up his clothes quickly and bundling them up under his covers. Ludwig grinded his teeth. Now his bed covers were ruined, too, and he was too tired to fix them.

He looked to the floor, reminded that he still had to fix up his own bed. Sighing, Ludwig draped a cot over the floor. Making a mission out of it, Ludwig was able to make his bed in a few minutes. He got into it, sighing heavily, and laid onto his side.

The room fell silent. Any noise he could hear came from outside, thankfully, and not from anywhere else in the house. He hoped everyone was already sleeping soundly, so he wouldn't have to run around trying to wake everyone up the next day.

As he started to fall asleep, there was a shuffle from his bed. The Italian slipped away from the covers, squatting by Ludwig's covers and slowly lifting a blanket up. He paused, checking to see if the German had moved, and began to maneuver himself into the blankets. He bundled himself up, then scooted closer to Ludwig.

It took some time before Ludwig awoke. He opened his eyes, aware of some new heat beside him, and stared. It was dark in his room, but he could still see the figure beside him.

"Vhat are you doing?" he asked finally.

The boy turned out to be awake. "I'a wanted to sleep with'a you."

"Vhy?"

"Lovi and Antonio are'a downstairs, and'a Mr. Roderich doesn't'a sleep with anyone."

Ludwig shifted. "He sleeps vith my _Bruder_."

Feliciano smiled, and Ludwig tilted his head at the light in his eyes. He was silent for a while, unusually, and Ludwig realized he was falling asleep. "_Fratello_ and'a Antonio are in love," he said sleepily, "he'a said he was'a going to pick tomatoes and'a never came back with'a any." Ludwig only watched the boy. "Antonio's home country had a war, and'a _fratello_ was'a worried..."

The boy drifted off to sleep. As he spoke, Feliciano had been shifting closer to Ludwig, and now he found the Italian with his face in his arm. Against his better judgement, Ludwig didn't pull away, instead allowing himself to sleep with the boy.

**Translation: **

_Note:_ Anything written with an accent is spoken in English; anything written without an accent is spoken in that character's respective tongue. Since Spanish accents are more of an inflection, they are not written.

Wie heisst du? - Lit., "What are you called?" Asking, "What is your name?"

Sprechen Sie Deutsch? - Do you speak German? Formal.

Ich heiße... - Lit., "I am called..." Saying, "My name is...[Ludwig]." O

Che cosa? - What?

Ja. - Yes.

Wagen - adj.; refers to a vehicle.

Du! - You!

Schwein - Pork.

Kartoffeln - Potatoes.

Knödel - Dumplings.

...und auch Kuchen - ...and also cakes.

Herr - Mr. [Beilschmidt].

Komm mit - Come with [me].

Bruder - Brother.

Setz dich - Sit down.

Mein - My.

Ist - Is.

Alles fertig! - All finished!

Wer ist das? - Who is that?

Señor - Mr. [Beilschmidt].

Como estas? - How are you?

Puedo entrar? - Lit., "I can enter?"

Italiano - Noun.; Italian person.

Un momento - One moment.

Chiquito - Literally calling him "shortie/shorty."

Hola - Hello.

Esta bien - It's okay.

Amor - "Love." Used as a term of endearment/affectionate name.

Amigo - "Friend."

Gracias - Thank you.

Si - Yes.

Nein, danke - No, thank you.

Fratello - Brother.


End file.
